His smile was slight, but I saw it. There was an awkwardness between us that I didn't really understand.
"It's weird," He sighed. Before I could ask what he meant he continued, "How we feel about each other." A silence hung between us and I blinked, not knowing what to say. We were walking now. "How we feel so much towards one another but we don't hold hands or hug or--" He paused for a second, "Kiss."
I felt my face burn, but I agreed. We began walking between the trees quietly, and all I wanted to do was reach out for his hand and pull it into mine. I wanted to look at his face and let his mouth draw my own in.
But I couldn't make myself do it. It seemed that even though I wanted to so badly and even to have his reassurance about how we both felt, I just... couldn't do it.
I wondered why.
Looking back, I thought about our strange relationship.
It seemed as though no matter what I did or didn't do nothing changed. It seemed like there was always an invisible wall.
I wondered if he tried to kiss me whether or not our lips would actually meet. It felt strange thinking about it.
I don't think they would meet.
But I wanted them to.
The silence seemed like a wall too. Something we couldn't really get past. It made my heart heavy not being able to.
I turned to face him and watched his lips move into words. But nothing came out. I squinted and asked his to repeat himself. I watched him laugh and 'speak' again. But again, nothing came out.
It felt like he was further than ever.
I reached forward, but the gap grew. He tilted his head in confusion and opened his mouth again.
"I miss you," His voice sounded like he was speaking under water.
I brought my hands to my face, and I felt a subtle dampness under my eyes.
I choked, "I miss you too."
The distance grew, and the trees seemed to thicken.
He spoke again.
"I can't--" My throat cracked, "I can't hear you."
His face fell with sadness. He tried again. I read his lips.
I was falling in love.
My heart broke.
"I was too," I brushed away tears, "I was too."
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Saturday, 19 September 2015
Thursday, 25 June 2015
Yours Truly, Jenny
I adjusted my jacket and moved the rear-viewing mirror to check my hair. My hands smoothed down the brown spikes and I stared at my light blue eyes for a moment. With nerves in my stomach I cleared my throat and pushed open my car door.
I looked at the home in front of me and began feeling giddy. I had been abroad for the army for about six months. I told Jenny I'd be home withing seven, so she wouldn't be expecting me.
I felt my dopey smile fill my face and I adjusted my jacket once more before bounding up the stairs to our home.
I felt the small box in my pocket and I closed my hand around it gently.
With a deep inhale, I knocked on the door once. Twice. Two more times. How many times was too much? I'm not hearing anything, maybe another knock--
The door opened a crack, and I was met with a familiar pair of brown eyes. Her hair was a lot shorter than it was; no longer falling behind her. It framed her face gracefully.
"Danny?" The shock from her face drained, and I realized I was gripping the box now.
"Hey Jenny." My smile widened.
"Danny, I--" She half-laughed and fell into my arms, "I thought you weren't coming home for another month."
I inhaled the soft lilac that coated her and squeezed her against me.
"I wanted to surprise you, babe." I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her arm length away to take her in. "You're so beautiful. Oh my God, you're so beautiful." I hugged her again.
She motioned me inside, "Come in, come in, oh you must be so tired." Jenny wiped at her eyes and tugged me into our humble abode.
Upon entering, I noticed everything was still the same. The living room still had the old white leather couch, light wood coffee table and matching side tables. The pictures above the fireplace were at the same angles and it felt the same. It just felt the same. Like home.
That's when I noticed something different.
"Hey, hon, where's--" There was a excited yap and in a fluid motion a black blur whirled around the corner and into my arms, "Luna!" The black lab nuzzled under my arms and sniffed me for what felt like forever, but that dog, my god, was the sweetest thing. I played with her, letting her get out her whining and loving barks. Finally she spun in my lap (with difficulty because she doesn't realize that she's not a puppy anymore. In fact she's one of the largest dogs I've met, but she acts like a cat. It really is the cutest thing.) and rested her head on the ground.
"Danny, when you left she got so sad. She would stare out the window and just cry," Said Jenny as she leaned down to rub Luna's head. "I'm surprised she didn't come out sooner, but she was sleeping. So I think she assumed the door was just some random person."
I laughed, "What, you have a lot of random people coming over lately?"
She squinted, "Just Lina and Jeff with their boys." Her eyes widened, "They're expecting another! Lina said she hopes it's a girl because all that testosterone is just consuming her femme fatale, also, my mother wanted to know when would be a good time to visit her and dad-- when you came back, but we don't have to decide anything right now as that would be-"
"Overwhelming?" I interrupted while laughing.
She grew bashful and kissed my forehead, "Sorry, babe. I know you just came home. There's just so much to tell you and I missed you so much. You got my letters, right?"
I nodded and reached for Jenny's hand, "I got them, read them, and held onto them every time I went out on duty."
She smiled with tears in her eyes. "Good." Something caught her eye and her smile faltered, "Hon, why did you come back early?"
Luna turned on my lap onto her back, exposing her tummy. I rubbed it as I explained, "I got shot on duty. Went clean through my calf. Hurt like a bitch- excuse me, it hurt a lot." I corrected after her look of horror.
"I don't care about you swearing, Daniel, I care about whether or not you're okay. What-- how? Are you okay?"
I nodded, "I'm fine. I was shocked when it happened and didn't realize it had happened because of the adrenaline state I was in. A buddy stopped me and called in help. I had to calm him down in order to tell me what was up." I laughed again, but grew solemn, "He ah, he died while covering my ground when I was in emergency care. Grenade." My throat grew thick.
"Danny... oh my god, I'm so sorry." She pulled me against her, "I am so sorry." I put my hand on her cheek and looked at her eyes.
"It's okay. I'm okay. They discharged me and I am going to be looking for a therapist so I don't develop PTSD, or if I do have it then I can work through it." I kissed her. "I missed you so fucking much." She laughed.
"Language, Danny." We both sat there, hugging, kissing, talking, laughing, and every once in a while I ended up crying. Or she would. I told her stories about my travels and she told me about what had happened here.
And we didn't notice how late it was until we saw the sun peeking through the window.
We were exhausted physically, but mentally we were wired.
So we went for a walk by the park. See, it had this huge hill that let you watch both the sunrises and sunsets.
And when the sun was high enough to bring tears to her eyes I went on one knee and pull out the tiny box.
And when I opened it she cried.
And nodded really aggressively.
Like, I thought her head would topple off.
And I put the small little ring on her fourth finger.
And we fell asleep watching the sunrise.
Tuesday, 9 June 2015
Tragedies
She sat on the wooden stairs leading to her home.
Her small fingers tapped the dark oak wood and she began clicking the toes of her Mary Jane's together.
She was so used to this place, for she grew up here.
Or, she grew up to her age now.
Which, seeing her short stature and little limbs, a person would assume she would be roughly eight years of age.
Which would be a proper assumption.
This little girl knew every nook and cranny within and outside of this house.
She knew the dark forest green paint chipped every summer and that he papa had to repaint it.
She knew that the wooden steps that she sat upon creaked no matter how little a person weighed.
She knew that when you walked through the bright white door you were hit by the steep staircase- also old dark oak, and when you got to the second floor and made an immediate right her room would be there.
She knew that if you decided to take a left there would be a bathroom.
And if you decided to keep going left there would be her parent's room.
She knew if you walked into the kitchen there was a loose floor board exactly six steps forward and three right, and under this floorboard was enough room for a little eight year old girl to hide during hide-and-go-seek.
She knew that in the endless forest backyard there was a 'cave' made out of logs and dead trees that she never did figure out how it was made before she--- ran out of time.
Her attention snapped away from her thoughts and she pulled the hand that was playing mindlessly with her long dark hair away from her face.
She never did find out what she looked like. Oh no, see, mama had a belief about vanity evolving from when you were a young girl, so she wouldn't let her daughter look in any mirrors.
But her parents told her how lovely and cute she looked every day nonetheless.
Because compliments don't cause vanity.
She moved her hands from her sides to her dress, which was speckled with ash for some reason.
A reason she couldn't remember. But she found it curious nonetheless.
The little girl's blue eyes looked in front of her now, as she watched a mother and father drive up to her home.
Curiosity spiked within her again as she watched the bug-looking car pull up the gravel road.
The car was a pale blue with silver trimmings.
She thought it looked rather boring.
Blue was such a common car colour at this day and age.
But maybe they'll make better cars with better colours.
Come on, Susan. The man spoke. She thought he looked rather dashing. Slicked light brown hair with what seemed to be deep brown eyes. Hm. Handsome. She had decided.
I'm coming, James. Oh my... it really is in rough shape ain't it? The little girl decided the woman was Susan.
The little girl looked up at her house. Rough shape? Never. The paint was just re-painted and everything seemed to have an unearthly pale glow to it.
She looked back to Susan and James. Susan seemed to hobble from the car, and as soon as she got on her feet she caressed her bulging stomach.
She was pregnant, the little girl decided.
She was a very pretty pregnant woman. Her dark blond hair was braided into a bun and even though the little girl couldn't see Susan's eyes due to the large bulbous glasses she was wearing, she decided her eyes were as blue as the darkest pits of the sea.
She clicked her Mary Jane's.
Well the family before us... well I told you already. It was devastating. This was James.
Susan cleared her throat, I am not too sure about this, darling. It could be haunted.
But James scoffed and held out his hand for his darling wife and led them up to the oak stairs leading to the little girl's home.
They paused, admiring the home. The little girl watched them.
Susan was much prettier up close. She had fleshy pink lips that seemed a bit too large for her face and a petite nose that kept her sunglasses up snobbishly. But she was a very pretty woman, the little girl decided.
It'll take some work hon, but my gosh will it be worth it. James was glowing now.
Susan gasped suddenly, reaching to her stomach.
What is it? What's wrong? Is the baby okay? James lurched towards her, bringing her close to his body.
Susan's sunglasses fell off.
The little girl lifted the corners of her lips. Her eyes were as blue as the darkest depths of the sea.
Black.
Yes, yes... it was just flailing. Oh James, I don't know about this. I feel really uneasy. Like someone is watching us... As Susan said this she looked at the little girl sitting in front of her.
The little girl looked at her ebony irises.
And didn't blink as the woman and the man walked up the steps through her after the man cooed her into entering the home.
But when the little girl did blink and look at her home, the dark green paint was splattered with broken windows and beams that had collapsed. The pristine exterior was black and burnt up. The roof had half fallen off, leaving a large wooden rubble pile on the side of the house.
The little girl stood up slowly.
And she looked at her home.
A bright flash crossed her eyes and suddenly she was in her light blue nightgown, sleeping in her bed with light blue bed sheets.
She was very calm.
She was wide awake.
She heard it first.
A strange crackling that was unfamiliar to her, but familiar at the same time.
It was loud.
She shuffled out of her bed after pulling the covers off of her.
She leaned her ear against her ivory door and listened.
It was loud.
Carefully, in a confused state, she opened her door.
And was hit by a thick billowing column of smoke.
Startled, she leaped back, not shutting her door fully.
She could see the bright red flames licking the wooden floor.
And she realized why it sounded familiar in its unfamiliar state.
It sounded like the fireplace at Christmas time.
The little girl smiled a bit then, thinking about Christmas.
How, she won't get Christmas this year.
But how she hoped her mama and papa would get one.
She went to the wall furthest from the door and slid down it until she had her head in her lap. She was coughing a lot now, as though her lungs were burning.
She was getting tired now, and the room was spinning.
The little girl brought her head against the wall, staring at the whirling ceiling.
It was a pretty ceiling.
A pretty home.
Her pretty home.
Then she saw a glint of something, and noticed the window.
Why hadn't she thought of the window?
She opened her mouth, only to be greeted by the smoke.
She was really warm now. She had a thick layer of sweat consuming her.
She tried to get up, placing her hands on the floor to push her up. But her arms gave and her knees buckled, and she lay on the floor. It felt so cool. She wondered if it would cool her down.
Her cheek was on the dark oak floor, and she could see the flames licking the ground around her.
She was hurting a lot now, she knew what was happening and she wanted it to end now.
She was closing her eyes now, thinking about how thirsty she was.
She tried to mover fingers. It hurt, but she still had them. They still moved.
And as she fell asleep she closed her hand around her pretty home.
Another flash crossed her vision. She parted her lips, and she noticed how she wasn't thirsty anymore.
As the couple opened the door she could see the stairs stained black from the fire that hurt her. From the fire that hurt her home.
She felt attachment, but understood what happened and understood what was to happen next.
She was closing her eyes, picturing her pretty home with the dark green paint and dark oak floors and light blue decor.
And she thought about her mama and papa and knew where they were they were okay.
...What did they do with the... bodies? Susan's high pitched voice broke her thoughts. And she kept her eyes open long enough to hear James' reply.
The mother and father were saved in time, but the little girl-- Viola, the fire damaged the way to her room. They couldn't get her in time. They say she died from carbon monoxide poisoning before she was... too injured.
Viola felt herself smile and she closed her eyes.
Mama and papa have another Christmas.
Her small fingers tapped the dark oak wood and she began clicking the toes of her Mary Jane's together.
She was so used to this place, for she grew up here.
Or, she grew up to her age now.
Which, seeing her short stature and little limbs, a person would assume she would be roughly eight years of age.
Which would be a proper assumption.
This little girl knew every nook and cranny within and outside of this house.
She knew the dark forest green paint chipped every summer and that he papa had to repaint it.
She knew that the wooden steps that she sat upon creaked no matter how little a person weighed.
She knew that when you walked through the bright white door you were hit by the steep staircase- also old dark oak, and when you got to the second floor and made an immediate right her room would be there.
She knew that if you decided to take a left there would be a bathroom.
And if you decided to keep going left there would be her parent's room.
She knew if you walked into the kitchen there was a loose floor board exactly six steps forward and three right, and under this floorboard was enough room for a little eight year old girl to hide during hide-and-go-seek.
She knew that in the endless forest backyard there was a 'cave' made out of logs and dead trees that she never did figure out how it was made before she--- ran out of time.
Her attention snapped away from her thoughts and she pulled the hand that was playing mindlessly with her long dark hair away from her face.
She never did find out what she looked like. Oh no, see, mama had a belief about vanity evolving from when you were a young girl, so she wouldn't let her daughter look in any mirrors.
But her parents told her how lovely and cute she looked every day nonetheless.
Because compliments don't cause vanity.
She moved her hands from her sides to her dress, which was speckled with ash for some reason.
A reason she couldn't remember. But she found it curious nonetheless.
The little girl's blue eyes looked in front of her now, as she watched a mother and father drive up to her home.
Curiosity spiked within her again as she watched the bug-looking car pull up the gravel road.
The car was a pale blue with silver trimmings.
She thought it looked rather boring.
Blue was such a common car colour at this day and age.
But maybe they'll make better cars with better colours.
Come on, Susan. The man spoke. She thought he looked rather dashing. Slicked light brown hair with what seemed to be deep brown eyes. Hm. Handsome. She had decided.
I'm coming, James. Oh my... it really is in rough shape ain't it? The little girl decided the woman was Susan.
The little girl looked up at her house. Rough shape? Never. The paint was just re-painted and everything seemed to have an unearthly pale glow to it.
She looked back to Susan and James. Susan seemed to hobble from the car, and as soon as she got on her feet she caressed her bulging stomach.
She was pregnant, the little girl decided.
She was a very pretty pregnant woman. Her dark blond hair was braided into a bun and even though the little girl couldn't see Susan's eyes due to the large bulbous glasses she was wearing, she decided her eyes were as blue as the darkest pits of the sea.
She clicked her Mary Jane's.
Well the family before us... well I told you already. It was devastating. This was James.
Susan cleared her throat, I am not too sure about this, darling. It could be haunted.
But James scoffed and held out his hand for his darling wife and led them up to the oak stairs leading to the little girl's home.
They paused, admiring the home. The little girl watched them.
Susan was much prettier up close. She had fleshy pink lips that seemed a bit too large for her face and a petite nose that kept her sunglasses up snobbishly. But she was a very pretty woman, the little girl decided.
It'll take some work hon, but my gosh will it be worth it. James was glowing now.
Susan gasped suddenly, reaching to her stomach.
What is it? What's wrong? Is the baby okay? James lurched towards her, bringing her close to his body.
Susan's sunglasses fell off.
The little girl lifted the corners of her lips. Her eyes were as blue as the darkest depths of the sea.
Black.
Yes, yes... it was just flailing. Oh James, I don't know about this. I feel really uneasy. Like someone is watching us... As Susan said this she looked at the little girl sitting in front of her.
The little girl looked at her ebony irises.
And didn't blink as the woman and the man walked up the steps through her after the man cooed her into entering the home.
But when the little girl did blink and look at her home, the dark green paint was splattered with broken windows and beams that had collapsed. The pristine exterior was black and burnt up. The roof had half fallen off, leaving a large wooden rubble pile on the side of the house.
The little girl stood up slowly.
And she looked at her home.
A bright flash crossed her eyes and suddenly she was in her light blue nightgown, sleeping in her bed with light blue bed sheets.
She was very calm.
She was wide awake.
She heard it first.
A strange crackling that was unfamiliar to her, but familiar at the same time.
It was loud.
She shuffled out of her bed after pulling the covers off of her.
She leaned her ear against her ivory door and listened.
It was loud.
Carefully, in a confused state, she opened her door.
And was hit by a thick billowing column of smoke.
Startled, she leaped back, not shutting her door fully.
She could see the bright red flames licking the wooden floor.
And she realized why it sounded familiar in its unfamiliar state.
It sounded like the fireplace at Christmas time.
The little girl smiled a bit then, thinking about Christmas.
How, she won't get Christmas this year.
But how she hoped her mama and papa would get one.
She went to the wall furthest from the door and slid down it until she had her head in her lap. She was coughing a lot now, as though her lungs were burning.
She was getting tired now, and the room was spinning.
The little girl brought her head against the wall, staring at the whirling ceiling.
It was a pretty ceiling.
A pretty home.
Her pretty home.
Then she saw a glint of something, and noticed the window.
Why hadn't she thought of the window?
She opened her mouth, only to be greeted by the smoke.
She was really warm now. She had a thick layer of sweat consuming her.
She tried to get up, placing her hands on the floor to push her up. But her arms gave and her knees buckled, and she lay on the floor. It felt so cool. She wondered if it would cool her down.
Her cheek was on the dark oak floor, and she could see the flames licking the ground around her.
She was hurting a lot now, she knew what was happening and she wanted it to end now.
She was closing her eyes now, thinking about how thirsty she was.
She tried to mover fingers. It hurt, but she still had them. They still moved.
And as she fell asleep she closed her hand around her pretty home.
Another flash crossed her vision. She parted her lips, and she noticed how she wasn't thirsty anymore.
As the couple opened the door she could see the stairs stained black from the fire that hurt her. From the fire that hurt her home.
She felt attachment, but understood what happened and understood what was to happen next.
She was closing her eyes, picturing her pretty home with the dark green paint and dark oak floors and light blue decor.
And she thought about her mama and papa and knew where they were they were okay.
...What did they do with the... bodies? Susan's high pitched voice broke her thoughts. And she kept her eyes open long enough to hear James' reply.
The mother and father were saved in time, but the little girl-- Viola, the fire damaged the way to her room. They couldn't get her in time. They say she died from carbon monoxide poisoning before she was... too injured.
Viola felt herself smile and she closed her eyes.
Mama and papa have another Christmas.
Thursday, 15 January 2015
The Little Mud in Life
When she was young, she tied her hair up away from her face.
His hair was trimmed but messy as he ran through the field with his friends.
She carried a colouring book to the swings, laughing with her older sister.
As she tried matching the blue sky to her picture, her sister pushed her gently.
He was slipping in the mud and yelling at his mates, screaming with joy.
But he slipped too close to the swings, and kicked up some mud onto her.
Her white stocking were wrecked, and the picture she worked on wasn't able to be seen.
Her sister started yelling,
He tried to apologize,
She didn't say anything,
and then the bell rang.
All the students scurried inside, trying not to be late.
But the boy stayed behind to try to wipe the mud off the swing.
The girl wasn't angry, just embarrassed that she was so dirty.
She was sent to the washroom to clean up, but on her way she saw through the window that the boy was using his water bottle to clear the mud from the swings.
She blinked a few times before walking into the bathroom. She opened the closet full of cleaning supplies and grabbed the bucket and sponge.
She filled it up with soap and some water, but when she got to the swings there was no sight of him.
When she was about to turn away, she heard a slapping noise behind her. To her feet were a pair of mucky black running shoes. Her confusion was short, because after she saw them, she looked up. At the top of the swing set was the boy, and in his hand was one of his socks as he was scrubbing the post.
She called for him to come down, but he resisted.
Finally, she soaked the sponge and threw it at him. A squishy splat echoed in the air, and a large, oval, damp shape cloaked his navy t-shirt.
He was stunned for a moment, and both the boy and girl watched the sponge squish back onto the gravel.
He hopped down, and asked her what she was doing out of class.
She didn't speak, but pulled falling strands away from her eyes. She reached down for the sponge and began cleaning his runners.
They didn't speak for a while, but cleaned the mess around them.
He put on his shoes bare-footed as she tried getting the mud out of her stockings.
And when they walked into the school again, they went into their own classrooms.
They didn't see each other again, for he played soccer when he was older while she drew.
But when they passed each other, he thought of her ruined stockings while she thought of his shoes.
And they went their ways.
His hair was trimmed but messy as he ran through the field with his friends.
She carried a colouring book to the swings, laughing with her older sister.
As she tried matching the blue sky to her picture, her sister pushed her gently.
He was slipping in the mud and yelling at his mates, screaming with joy.
But he slipped too close to the swings, and kicked up some mud onto her.
Her white stocking were wrecked, and the picture she worked on wasn't able to be seen.
Her sister started yelling,
He tried to apologize,
She didn't say anything,
and then the bell rang.
All the students scurried inside, trying not to be late.
But the boy stayed behind to try to wipe the mud off the swing.
The girl wasn't angry, just embarrassed that she was so dirty.
She was sent to the washroom to clean up, but on her way she saw through the window that the boy was using his water bottle to clear the mud from the swings.
She blinked a few times before walking into the bathroom. She opened the closet full of cleaning supplies and grabbed the bucket and sponge.
She filled it up with soap and some water, but when she got to the swings there was no sight of him.
When she was about to turn away, she heard a slapping noise behind her. To her feet were a pair of mucky black running shoes. Her confusion was short, because after she saw them, she looked up. At the top of the swing set was the boy, and in his hand was one of his socks as he was scrubbing the post.
She called for him to come down, but he resisted.
Finally, she soaked the sponge and threw it at him. A squishy splat echoed in the air, and a large, oval, damp shape cloaked his navy t-shirt.
He was stunned for a moment, and both the boy and girl watched the sponge squish back onto the gravel.
He hopped down, and asked her what she was doing out of class.
She didn't speak, but pulled falling strands away from her eyes. She reached down for the sponge and began cleaning his runners.
They didn't speak for a while, but cleaned the mess around them.
He put on his shoes bare-footed as she tried getting the mud out of her stockings.
And when they walked into the school again, they went into their own classrooms.
They didn't see each other again, for he played soccer when he was older while she drew.
But when they passed each other, he thought of her ruined stockings while she thought of his shoes.
And they went their ways.
Monday, 3 November 2014
Evermore
I remember everything about him. His green eyes. His soulful fucking eyes. I hated them.
I hated how he would hold my hand so tenderly, as though he would break me.
I hated how he would brush his nose against my neck, making my knees become fuzzy and frail.
I hated how he would be talking so excitedly while walking ahead of me, and then he would turn his head over his shoulder, grinning crookedly at me.
I hated how when his life became so hectic he told me to let him sink.
______
"Vi?" His soft gaze tried to meet mine. But I refused to look at him with tears clouding my vision. He pulled his large hands around my small ones, "Please."
I forced myself to look at him. But I could only reach his shaggy brown hair.
"Let me drown." He was whispering. "Let me drown, and eventually I'll be able to swim to the surface and see you on the shore."
My teeth were clenching. "Let me help." He smiled sadly.
"This is something you can't help with."
"You haven't let me try!" I leaned forward, squeezing his hands desperately.
And then he brought his mouth to my forehead. And he rested there for several moments. Just before he pulled away he murmured, "I love you. I can't let you be hurt."
I sneered, "How ironic." I pushed away, whipping my hands out and away from him. And I rushed out of his flat, into the busy California streets. It was colder than usual, so I tugged my wind breaker tight around me, not knowing whether my trembling was from him or the wind.
And I walked away.
______
Years ago, when he and I had just met, we were sophomores at an uptight private school. We didn't have any classes together, but his and my lockers were right next to each other. So each day, we would be at our lockers and we would say hello. Every day. For the entire year.
I never thought of him as anything other than an acquaintance until he approached me during the first week of junior year. His hair was really long, licking the base of his jaw and swept up away from his eyes. It looked messily beautiful.
He leaned his hands against the outdoor table, an odd gleam in his eyes that matched the crooked grin plastered to his face.
"Violet, right?" He wore a deep red t-shirt with a high v-neck. But I couldn't stop staring at his eyes. They were such a clear, dark green. I had never seen something so amazing.
I nodded, stiff with surprise.
"We had lockers next to each other last year."
I nodded again.
He stood up straight, adjusting his shirt to fall against the rim of his navy black jeans. "Zaylen." He coughed slightly, a pink blush sweeping under his eyes.
I nodded, unsure what to say.
He cleared his throat, "Any ways, I was invited to this party," He waved his hand, "Or get together or something..." He caught himself, "And I thought, I dunno. If you wanted to come, I could introduce you to some people."
"Are you saying I don't know any one?" I spoke before my mind could stop myself. I winced at how mean I had sounded. He seemed unfazed as his grin returned.
"No- no, it's just..." He glanced to the side and leaned in, "Everyone talks about you, but I barely see you with anyone." His endless eyes stared into my own, "So you should meet everyone who is talking about you." Zaylen shrugged his hand into his front jean pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. As I opened my mouth in protest he unfolded the lined paper. "My phone number, the party's address and the password to enter." He moved the paper towards me like a bribe, "This Friday, ten o'clock. When you get in call me and I'll meet up with you."
"What if I'm busy this Friday?" I inquired as I rose my dirty blond eyebrows.
"Well you are." He tapped the paper, "You're coming to a party and you will hang out with me and you will have a great time." Before I could respond he began walking away, and that was the first time he looked over his shoulder grinning wildly, "See you Friday, Vi!"
______
I hated how when I met up with him he placed his hand flat against my shoulder blade.
I hated how coolly he introduced me to every one.
I hated how he brought me drinks with the cap sealed tightly and unopened.
I hated how he shoved some guy who was intoxicated off of me.
I hated how he didn't drink anything, and how he got me home safely.
I hated how when he stopped the car he leaned across the arm rest and brushed his lips so gently across my cheek that it felt like a rose petal.
I hated how he told me he'd call me so we could hang out again.
I hated how I nodded dumbly and said yes.
I hated how he made it seem like he cared about me.
______
Zaylen didn't formally ask me out until we had hung out a total of nine times. He explained to me, that proper etiquette was to wait until we had met up the same amount of times as his favourite number.
"For good luck." He said smiling.
I said yes. And we went to parties. And we stayed at his place. And we toured around Cali. We went to the beach almost everyday, running into the endless waves and falling back into the velvet sand.
There we lay one day, huffing and out of breath. We were on our backs, staring up at the pale pink setting sky. I turned my head and looked at him. God, I loved looking at him. He had tiny water droplets that lay on the tips of his thick black eyelashes. He blinked and turned to me. But there was something different. He looked at me, and it felt like he was placing a blanket around me. I felt secure. We had been together for almost a year. But it felt like I wasn't caring about him less, but intensely more.
"I'm in love with you." I didn't see his lips move, but his low voice echoed through my ears. He and I had told each other we loved one another a few months ago, but to hear that he was in love... I felt it.
Zaylen and I stared at each other, and he didn't give me a look as though he was expecting me to say it back. But I did. I said it so many times.
______
Senior year took us by surprise. College applications had to be going out, parents were fumbling and being melancholic about how they'll miss their kids. I had already said goodbye to my parents because Zaylen had convinced me to move in with him in a new apartment.
We went through school focused, but coming home to him gave me such euphoria, that I couldn't believe how much I loved him. I loved Zaylen so much that it physically hurt. My heart would race, my stomach would churn, and my legs were immobile.
But he was there to catch me.
He always caught me.
______
After a few months, he would get home and be quiet. He wasn't eating as much and sleeping more. He had permanent black lines under his eyes, and he never seemed energetic.
We still went on walks, but his excitement for life seemed drained.
We sat on the dock on a Sunday. I remember it being a Sunday because I pointed to the horizon, trying to cheer him up. "As the last bit of sun fades into the horizon, Sunday becomes Monday."
He tried to smile. He really did. But it seemed fractured. He kissed my temple.
When he got back to the apartment, he sat down on the love seat. As I was about to go to the bedroom he called me. "Vi." He sounded weak.
I remember freezing. I was scared suddenly. I knew something was happening.
"Can you come sit down, Vi?" Zaylen's voice cracked, and I hesitantly moved towards him.
I sat about a foot away from him, but he shuffled closer to me. His long hair strung in front of his eyes, and he seemed to fade out looking at the carpet. I pulled his hands onto my lap, and I brushed my thumb across the back of his hand. He squeezed my hand with reassurance, and looked up in response.
"I did what you asked." I blinked, not understanding what he was talking about. He nodded his head slightly, "Therapist." A wave of realization shot through me as he continued, "To try to feel better. It's kind of working. Sometimes. I don't know. They're going to be letting me try different medications." I was crying suddenly. I don't know why. To hear his pain was so hard. It felt like I was being torn apart. "There are times where I feel better, but then it gets worse for a bit. They said it's normal, but it's just hard." His green eyes looked at me.
______
I hated how he wouldn't let me try to help him.
I hated how I couldn't understand why he was sad.
I hated how he couldn't explain it.
I hated how helpless I felt. How I feel.
I hated how hopeless he was.
______
It was a few weeks after he told me he was seeing so many people about his struggles. He thought that we should get a dog. That maybe something love-able and cuddly would help. I agreed completely. She was a Finnish Spitz crossed with husky, and the tiniest pup you could imagine. She was the runt, but Azzy was the sweetest dog that we could have hoped for. She made Zaylen smile more. And he was willing to take her on walks. But the time with me was minimal. I would offer to come, or to take her for a walk alone, but he insisted differently.
After a few more weeks he became distant from Azzy as well. Our attempt was beginning to fail. That's when he sat me down again. And this time he told me he was leaving. That he needed an intensive therapy program where he would live for a few months.
I knew it was coming, but I didn't stop crying that night. I was also crying in my dreams.
______
I hated how he hugged me, and told me he loved me as he walked away with his suitcase.
I hated how he didn't want me to see him for several weeks.
I hated how the doctors and nurses didn't let me talk to him.
I hated how I got used to Zaylen not being in the apartment.
I hated how I felt abandoned, when he was the one struggling so terribly.
______
He was right when he said he'd be there for more than a few months. I finished school and began prepping for a University I got accepted to.
I began seeing my parents more, They lived in the same gray blue house, with the same beige carpet. As my mother handed me a teacup filled with steaming green tea, my stomach dropped into a pit of guilt.
She sat next to me on the large floral couch, resting her free hand on my knee as she held her own cup with the other. "Tell me, Vi, how have you been?"
And I talked to her. I told her about how painful it was without him. How he changed, and how I want him to get better. How I want my Zaylen back. We spoke for hours, tears emerged from both of us. Laughter bubbled from both of us. Daddy didn't get home until around dinner, so I stayed with them that night. A constant warm comfort stayed with me. Even as I strode up the staircase into my old bedroom, which was now the guest room. I was now a guest.
______
The first time I visited Zaylen, a dense silence filled the space between us. I didn't force him to speak. I didn't give idle chit chat. So we sat, studying each other. Finally he reached over to me, slowly placing his hand on top of my thigh.
His green eyes sparkled, "I'm going to be discharged in about a month, Violet." I wanted to smile, to hug him. To expel all the relief that had seized up inside of me. But that's what it did. It froze inside of me. And I couldn't tell him how my insides twisted with joy, how my heart began thumping as though it hadn't for the past four months. But he squeezed my thigh to tell me he understood. He always understood.
______
When he was released from the hospital, I ordered dinner so we could have a calm evening at home. We sat on the couch quietly, and I felt odd for a reason I couldn't pin point. And when we went to bed it felt odd to have him by my side.
When we got up in the morning it felt odd.
When we went out it felt odd.
And I couldn't figure out why.
______
When he told me to let him go, so he could fix himself, I did. And I didn't hate him for it. I hated myself.
Everything I hated about him, I only hated myself for enjoying it.
I hated myself because when Zaylen had gone away for the five months, I had gotten used to the creaking of the apartment. I had gotten used to cooking for one. I had gotten used to walking Azzy alone. I had gotten used to being alone.
And in that time, I had fallen out of love with him.
The boy I was head over heals in love with, the boy who stole my heart at fifteen, who was my first love, was just that. My first love.
And I hated that I had torn that love a part.
______
He knew. He could tell. And I saw the hurt in his eyes every day until I kissed him goodbye. I kissed Azzy goodbye.
And as I know now, the time I had with Zaylen was magical.
______
I remember everything about Zaylen. His hair, eyes, mouth, clothing, vocabulary, favourite food, favourite joke. Favourite everything.
______
I remember when he took me out on the roof and we lay and stared at the fireworks exploding and popping above us.
______
I remember how he blushed when he bumped his hand against my thigh for the first time.
______
I remember his tiny freckles at the base of his neck.
______
I remember, but I will not let these memories consume me. I loved him. I always will. And I love all the memories we had and made.
But I'm not in love with him anymore.
Even though I wish I was.
______
I don't know where he is anymore. We stayed in touch for a month or so. Then we kind of parted. Not in a negative way. In a way that said "I love you, and thank you." The beautiful thing about first loves, is that that is simply what they are. First. That doesn't mean the last. And as I, Violet Hatcher write this, I can tell you that I have fallen in love three times. One, with Zaylen Daniels. Two, with Azzy Daniels-Hatcher. Three, with the person I'm with now. Liam Adamson. And I don't know if he'll be my last, and I know I will not have the same memories as I did with Zaylen, but that's okay. It's okay because it makes every love unique. Every love is unique.
I hated how he would hold my hand so tenderly, as though he would break me.
I hated how he would brush his nose against my neck, making my knees become fuzzy and frail.
I hated how he would be talking so excitedly while walking ahead of me, and then he would turn his head over his shoulder, grinning crookedly at me.
I hated how when his life became so hectic he told me to let him sink.
______
"Vi?" His soft gaze tried to meet mine. But I refused to look at him with tears clouding my vision. He pulled his large hands around my small ones, "Please."
I forced myself to look at him. But I could only reach his shaggy brown hair.
"Let me drown." He was whispering. "Let me drown, and eventually I'll be able to swim to the surface and see you on the shore."
My teeth were clenching. "Let me help." He smiled sadly.
"This is something you can't help with."
"You haven't let me try!" I leaned forward, squeezing his hands desperately.
And then he brought his mouth to my forehead. And he rested there for several moments. Just before he pulled away he murmured, "I love you. I can't let you be hurt."
I sneered, "How ironic." I pushed away, whipping my hands out and away from him. And I rushed out of his flat, into the busy California streets. It was colder than usual, so I tugged my wind breaker tight around me, not knowing whether my trembling was from him or the wind.
And I walked away.
______
Years ago, when he and I had just met, we were sophomores at an uptight private school. We didn't have any classes together, but his and my lockers were right next to each other. So each day, we would be at our lockers and we would say hello. Every day. For the entire year.
I never thought of him as anything other than an acquaintance until he approached me during the first week of junior year. His hair was really long, licking the base of his jaw and swept up away from his eyes. It looked messily beautiful.
He leaned his hands against the outdoor table, an odd gleam in his eyes that matched the crooked grin plastered to his face.
"Violet, right?" He wore a deep red t-shirt with a high v-neck. But I couldn't stop staring at his eyes. They were such a clear, dark green. I had never seen something so amazing.
I nodded, stiff with surprise.
"We had lockers next to each other last year."
I nodded again.
He stood up straight, adjusting his shirt to fall against the rim of his navy black jeans. "Zaylen." He coughed slightly, a pink blush sweeping under his eyes.
I nodded, unsure what to say.
He cleared his throat, "Any ways, I was invited to this party," He waved his hand, "Or get together or something..." He caught himself, "And I thought, I dunno. If you wanted to come, I could introduce you to some people."
"Are you saying I don't know any one?" I spoke before my mind could stop myself. I winced at how mean I had sounded. He seemed unfazed as his grin returned.
"No- no, it's just..." He glanced to the side and leaned in, "Everyone talks about you, but I barely see you with anyone." His endless eyes stared into my own, "So you should meet everyone who is talking about you." Zaylen shrugged his hand into his front jean pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. As I opened my mouth in protest he unfolded the lined paper. "My phone number, the party's address and the password to enter." He moved the paper towards me like a bribe, "This Friday, ten o'clock. When you get in call me and I'll meet up with you."
"What if I'm busy this Friday?" I inquired as I rose my dirty blond eyebrows.
"Well you are." He tapped the paper, "You're coming to a party and you will hang out with me and you will have a great time." Before I could respond he began walking away, and that was the first time he looked over his shoulder grinning wildly, "See you Friday, Vi!"
______
I hated how when I met up with him he placed his hand flat against my shoulder blade.
I hated how coolly he introduced me to every one.
I hated how he brought me drinks with the cap sealed tightly and unopened.
I hated how he shoved some guy who was intoxicated off of me.
I hated how he didn't drink anything, and how he got me home safely.
I hated how when he stopped the car he leaned across the arm rest and brushed his lips so gently across my cheek that it felt like a rose petal.
I hated how he told me he'd call me so we could hang out again.
I hated how I nodded dumbly and said yes.
I hated how he made it seem like he cared about me.
______
Zaylen didn't formally ask me out until we had hung out a total of nine times. He explained to me, that proper etiquette was to wait until we had met up the same amount of times as his favourite number.
"For good luck." He said smiling.
I said yes. And we went to parties. And we stayed at his place. And we toured around Cali. We went to the beach almost everyday, running into the endless waves and falling back into the velvet sand.
There we lay one day, huffing and out of breath. We were on our backs, staring up at the pale pink setting sky. I turned my head and looked at him. God, I loved looking at him. He had tiny water droplets that lay on the tips of his thick black eyelashes. He blinked and turned to me. But there was something different. He looked at me, and it felt like he was placing a blanket around me. I felt secure. We had been together for almost a year. But it felt like I wasn't caring about him less, but intensely more.
"I'm in love with you." I didn't see his lips move, but his low voice echoed through my ears. He and I had told each other we loved one another a few months ago, but to hear that he was in love... I felt it.
Zaylen and I stared at each other, and he didn't give me a look as though he was expecting me to say it back. But I did. I said it so many times.
______
Senior year took us by surprise. College applications had to be going out, parents were fumbling and being melancholic about how they'll miss their kids. I had already said goodbye to my parents because Zaylen had convinced me to move in with him in a new apartment.
We went through school focused, but coming home to him gave me such euphoria, that I couldn't believe how much I loved him. I loved Zaylen so much that it physically hurt. My heart would race, my stomach would churn, and my legs were immobile.
But he was there to catch me.
He always caught me.
______
After a few months, he would get home and be quiet. He wasn't eating as much and sleeping more. He had permanent black lines under his eyes, and he never seemed energetic.
We still went on walks, but his excitement for life seemed drained.
We sat on the dock on a Sunday. I remember it being a Sunday because I pointed to the horizon, trying to cheer him up. "As the last bit of sun fades into the horizon, Sunday becomes Monday."
He tried to smile. He really did. But it seemed fractured. He kissed my temple.
When he got back to the apartment, he sat down on the love seat. As I was about to go to the bedroom he called me. "Vi." He sounded weak.
I remember freezing. I was scared suddenly. I knew something was happening.
"Can you come sit down, Vi?" Zaylen's voice cracked, and I hesitantly moved towards him.
I sat about a foot away from him, but he shuffled closer to me. His long hair strung in front of his eyes, and he seemed to fade out looking at the carpet. I pulled his hands onto my lap, and I brushed my thumb across the back of his hand. He squeezed my hand with reassurance, and looked up in response.
"I did what you asked." I blinked, not understanding what he was talking about. He nodded his head slightly, "Therapist." A wave of realization shot through me as he continued, "To try to feel better. It's kind of working. Sometimes. I don't know. They're going to be letting me try different medications." I was crying suddenly. I don't know why. To hear his pain was so hard. It felt like I was being torn apart. "There are times where I feel better, but then it gets worse for a bit. They said it's normal, but it's just hard." His green eyes looked at me.
______
I hated how he wouldn't let me try to help him.
I hated how I couldn't understand why he was sad.
I hated how he couldn't explain it.
I hated how helpless I felt. How I feel.
I hated how hopeless he was.
______
It was a few weeks after he told me he was seeing so many people about his struggles. He thought that we should get a dog. That maybe something love-able and cuddly would help. I agreed completely. She was a Finnish Spitz crossed with husky, and the tiniest pup you could imagine. She was the runt, but Azzy was the sweetest dog that we could have hoped for. She made Zaylen smile more. And he was willing to take her on walks. But the time with me was minimal. I would offer to come, or to take her for a walk alone, but he insisted differently.
After a few more weeks he became distant from Azzy as well. Our attempt was beginning to fail. That's when he sat me down again. And this time he told me he was leaving. That he needed an intensive therapy program where he would live for a few months.
I knew it was coming, but I didn't stop crying that night. I was also crying in my dreams.
______
I hated how he hugged me, and told me he loved me as he walked away with his suitcase.
I hated how he didn't want me to see him for several weeks.
I hated how the doctors and nurses didn't let me talk to him.
I hated how I got used to Zaylen not being in the apartment.
I hated how I felt abandoned, when he was the one struggling so terribly.
______
He was right when he said he'd be there for more than a few months. I finished school and began prepping for a University I got accepted to.
I began seeing my parents more, They lived in the same gray blue house, with the same beige carpet. As my mother handed me a teacup filled with steaming green tea, my stomach dropped into a pit of guilt.
She sat next to me on the large floral couch, resting her free hand on my knee as she held her own cup with the other. "Tell me, Vi, how have you been?"
And I talked to her. I told her about how painful it was without him. How he changed, and how I want him to get better. How I want my Zaylen back. We spoke for hours, tears emerged from both of us. Laughter bubbled from both of us. Daddy didn't get home until around dinner, so I stayed with them that night. A constant warm comfort stayed with me. Even as I strode up the staircase into my old bedroom, which was now the guest room. I was now a guest.
______
The first time I visited Zaylen, a dense silence filled the space between us. I didn't force him to speak. I didn't give idle chit chat. So we sat, studying each other. Finally he reached over to me, slowly placing his hand on top of my thigh.
His green eyes sparkled, "I'm going to be discharged in about a month, Violet." I wanted to smile, to hug him. To expel all the relief that had seized up inside of me. But that's what it did. It froze inside of me. And I couldn't tell him how my insides twisted with joy, how my heart began thumping as though it hadn't for the past four months. But he squeezed my thigh to tell me he understood. He always understood.
______
When he was released from the hospital, I ordered dinner so we could have a calm evening at home. We sat on the couch quietly, and I felt odd for a reason I couldn't pin point. And when we went to bed it felt odd to have him by my side.
When we got up in the morning it felt odd.
When we went out it felt odd.
And I couldn't figure out why.
______
When he told me to let him go, so he could fix himself, I did. And I didn't hate him for it. I hated myself.
Everything I hated about him, I only hated myself for enjoying it.
I hated myself because when Zaylen had gone away for the five months, I had gotten used to the creaking of the apartment. I had gotten used to cooking for one. I had gotten used to walking Azzy alone. I had gotten used to being alone.
And in that time, I had fallen out of love with him.
The boy I was head over heals in love with, the boy who stole my heart at fifteen, who was my first love, was just that. My first love.
And I hated that I had torn that love a part.
______
He knew. He could tell. And I saw the hurt in his eyes every day until I kissed him goodbye. I kissed Azzy goodbye.
And as I know now, the time I had with Zaylen was magical.
______
I remember everything about Zaylen. His hair, eyes, mouth, clothing, vocabulary, favourite food, favourite joke. Favourite everything.
______
I remember when he took me out on the roof and we lay and stared at the fireworks exploding and popping above us.
______
I remember how he blushed when he bumped his hand against my thigh for the first time.
______
I remember his tiny freckles at the base of his neck.
______
I remember, but I will not let these memories consume me. I loved him. I always will. And I love all the memories we had and made.
But I'm not in love with him anymore.
Even though I wish I was.
______
I don't know where he is anymore. We stayed in touch for a month or so. Then we kind of parted. Not in a negative way. In a way that said "I love you, and thank you." The beautiful thing about first loves, is that that is simply what they are. First. That doesn't mean the last. And as I, Violet Hatcher write this, I can tell you that I have fallen in love three times. One, with Zaylen Daniels. Two, with Azzy Daniels-Hatcher. Three, with the person I'm with now. Liam Adamson. And I don't know if he'll be my last, and I know I will not have the same memories as I did with Zaylen, but that's okay. It's okay because it makes every love unique. Every love is unique.
Friday, 31 October 2014
Update
Hello reader.
Here I am again breaking the fourth wall.
Which is still really weird of me.
I haven't written anything in a while because I've been in a struggle.
Mentally at least.
But I wanted to tell you,
who ever you may be,
that I am planning on a short story
that will be released when I finish it.
I do not know when that will be,
but hopefully in the next few weeks.
If you want though, read my previous creations
and wait for my reveal.
Happy Halloween,
I hope it is as scary
bloody, frightful, and fun
as you wish it to be.
Here I am again breaking the fourth wall.
Which is still really weird of me.
I haven't written anything in a while because I've been in a struggle.
Mentally at least.
But I wanted to tell you,
who ever you may be,
that I am planning on a short story
that will be released when I finish it.
I do not know when that will be,
but hopefully in the next few weeks.
If you want though, read my previous creations
and wait for my reveal.
Happy Halloween,
I hope it is as scary
bloody, frightful, and fun
as you wish it to be.
Saturday, 18 October 2014
Another Secret
She walked down the dim road, arm wrapped around the girl whom she was best of friends with.
Her friend held her waist, and they laughed about nothing as the last light shut its eyes.
As they walked, they spoke about the future. They spoke about the past.
And in a moment, the light from both of their eyes became solemn, and the girl let her arm drop off of her friends shoulders.
She tied her long curly red hair up into a bun, looking at her friend's deep brown eyes.
"Is it okay, that I don't tell you everything Sammy?"
Sammy brushed her black hair away from her face, letting the brisk air lick her cheeks pink.
After a few minutes, she nodded once. "I hope you don't tell me everything. Because if you did, you wouldn't have anything that was truly yours."
The red haired girl felt a wave of sadness slam into her gut, and she decided to simply sit on the cold cement sidewalk.
"I don't feel like anything is truly mine anyways." She sighed.
Sammy sat down across from her, bringing her gaze to her friend's. "You do. It may not seem like it, but you do. All the feelings you get when you see the boy you fancy? That's yours. The inhaling of icy air when you run? Yours. And the way you smile when you remember something that made you happy? Absolutely yours. Cris, you have so much that's yours."
Cris allowed doubt to cloud her eyes.
"It just seems that whatever I want doesn't matter. A tattoo? My mom promised it a year ago, it never happened and now she's getting one. My friend got one before me when I have been wanting one for seven years." She punched the ground, "Seven years, Sam." Her hands clenched into fists.
Sammy fiddled her hands, unknowing what to say.
"Your hair is unique." Sam ran her hand through Cris's icy red hair, pulling it out of the bun.
"It does nothing anymore." She brushed away her hand.
"Your eyes are stunning." Sammy was sounding exasperated now.
"They make me look placid." Cris snapped back.
Sammy stood up, ruffling her own hair. "Your clothes are so different and beautiful compared to others."
Cris stood up too, crossing her arms. "That doesn't mean anything. Everything I wear is baggy and black. I look like a murderer, but I can't wear other clothes that girls wear! Like crop tops, or skirts or dresses or shit like that!" Tears were pooling in her pale blue eyes now.
Sammy screamed now, shoving her friend's shoulders, "Well I can't tell you things you want to hear until you feel better, because you won't Cris! People can tell you you're beautiful, it doesn't make a difference! People can tell you you're talented in art, it won't help you feel better! I can't do that for you! I can't help, even though I wish I could! Do you think I like seeing you so sad that you can't hold conversations well? That you can't eat in front of people without feeling fat? That you can't stop comparing yourself to other people? I can't help that!" Sammy was sobbing now, "I can't help that."
Sammy hugged Cris tightly, crying into her shoulder.
Cris didn't speak.
Sammy whispered in her ear, "That's what you need to do. Somehow. Remember the little things that are yours. That make you happy. That will help. You can help you."
They were silent for a long time. Letting the cool air wrap around them.
Letting them give themselves each another moment that was truly theirs.
Her friend held her waist, and they laughed about nothing as the last light shut its eyes.
As they walked, they spoke about the future. They spoke about the past.
And in a moment, the light from both of their eyes became solemn, and the girl let her arm drop off of her friends shoulders.
She tied her long curly red hair up into a bun, looking at her friend's deep brown eyes.
"Is it okay, that I don't tell you everything Sammy?"
Sammy brushed her black hair away from her face, letting the brisk air lick her cheeks pink.
After a few minutes, she nodded once. "I hope you don't tell me everything. Because if you did, you wouldn't have anything that was truly yours."
The red haired girl felt a wave of sadness slam into her gut, and she decided to simply sit on the cold cement sidewalk.
"I don't feel like anything is truly mine anyways." She sighed.
Sammy sat down across from her, bringing her gaze to her friend's. "You do. It may not seem like it, but you do. All the feelings you get when you see the boy you fancy? That's yours. The inhaling of icy air when you run? Yours. And the way you smile when you remember something that made you happy? Absolutely yours. Cris, you have so much that's yours."
Cris allowed doubt to cloud her eyes.
"It just seems that whatever I want doesn't matter. A tattoo? My mom promised it a year ago, it never happened and now she's getting one. My friend got one before me when I have been wanting one for seven years." She punched the ground, "Seven years, Sam." Her hands clenched into fists.
Sammy fiddled her hands, unknowing what to say.
"Your hair is unique." Sam ran her hand through Cris's icy red hair, pulling it out of the bun.
"It does nothing anymore." She brushed away her hand.
"Your eyes are stunning." Sammy was sounding exasperated now.
"They make me look placid." Cris snapped back.
Sammy stood up, ruffling her own hair. "Your clothes are so different and beautiful compared to others."
Cris stood up too, crossing her arms. "That doesn't mean anything. Everything I wear is baggy and black. I look like a murderer, but I can't wear other clothes that girls wear! Like crop tops, or skirts or dresses or shit like that!" Tears were pooling in her pale blue eyes now.
Sammy screamed now, shoving her friend's shoulders, "Well I can't tell you things you want to hear until you feel better, because you won't Cris! People can tell you you're beautiful, it doesn't make a difference! People can tell you you're talented in art, it won't help you feel better! I can't do that for you! I can't help, even though I wish I could! Do you think I like seeing you so sad that you can't hold conversations well? That you can't eat in front of people without feeling fat? That you can't stop comparing yourself to other people? I can't help that!" Sammy was sobbing now, "I can't help that."
Sammy hugged Cris tightly, crying into her shoulder.
Cris didn't speak.
Sammy whispered in her ear, "That's what you need to do. Somehow. Remember the little things that are yours. That make you happy. That will help. You can help you."
They were silent for a long time. Letting the cool air wrap around them.
Letting them give themselves each another moment that was truly theirs.
Friday, 3 October 2014
Their eyes were battling each other, the rage sent waves around the empty room,
with nothing in it except packed boxes.
He came home when she wasn't finished packing.
When she wasn't finished saying goodbye.
And he stared at her with anger flowing through his veins, "You've had enough time. Get out. Now."
He flicked his white cuffed wrist to the elevator door, venom dripping from his mouth
like a savage dog.
And she stared at him with disdain, tears flowing freely as her mumbled words made her sound as worthless as she felt. "I'm not ready yet."
This time he began shouting, feeling his heart welting with the frustration that filled his heart
every day
for the past
few
weeks.
"I don't want to see you, Anna! Get the fuck out, now!" He stepped closer to her now, taking in the deep brown hair. Instead of it being neatly pinned back, it was now wavy and full of frizz. Her once full eyes were empty and heartless. He felt heartless too.
She gripped the edge of one of the boxes, sputtering, "Please, I can't go yet. How do you know--"
He gripped her arm, dragging her to the elevator door. And with the press of the button, the elevator slowly drifted up to the suite.
She cried out, falling against him. Feeling deflated.
And he held this woman.
The woman who he felt in love with for the past seven years.
The woman who showed him the world.
Who showed him love.
True.
Love.
He held this woman, feeling her embrace one last time, before she would drift off like the ocean. Being free. Truly free.
She looked up at him, her hollow green eyes meeting his with heartbreak.
And he brushed his fingers down her face so gently,
she could've mistaken it for rain.
And then he tugged his finger against her lip, ever so slightly.
"But," her voice was hoarse, "How do you know when it's love?"
His eyes widened, with reality.
What was love?
Was this terror of a relationship not real?
A facade?
Her pleading eyes bore into his.
But his anger still boiled.
Her rage was still inflamed.
As so when the elevator dinged, he moved Anna into the metal box. And left before she could watch him as the doors shut.
And he poured himself a glass of whiskey.
And took it as a shot.
And as he curled up in bed
his face was burning hot
from the tears that stained his cheeks
and the pain from the weeks
he was now being torn
from what she said
about the confusion
how love felt dead
and when he woke
he had some gin
mumbling what she spoke
the chance of sleep was slim
each day carried out
little shut eye
many tears
one day
he couldn't try
so he took some pills
and lay his head
after downing some whiskey
his limbs like lead
and he wrote
I quote
"My dearest Anna,
love
is a fanatical word
because people have assumed
that it can sum up a mess
of emotions
but
do not use it in vain
do not
utter it
with uncertainty
I love you
and when I say love
I mean
you make my heart stop
when you look at me
even if you don't
it feels as though I'll vomit
and my shakiness is terrible
and won't stop for hours
even when
you're long
gone.
And I love you
because
when your name is said
my stomach
it flutters
but the problem is
I love you
to the point
where
it
physically
hurts
when I'm not around you
and when you see me
but don't speak to me
I'm getting torn a part inside
and I pray you don't see my corpse
lifeless
loveless
but
I need you to see this
because I was
angry
I still am
but it wasn't with you
it was with my pain capacity
I was broken
I am broken
and I
can't
be
fixed
because
I'll just crumble again
and Oh, Anna
dream well
live well
live free
of strain
and sadness
and anger
and restlessness
watch the ocean
I see it in your eyes
watch the ocean.
With more emotion than you could possibly comprehend,
yours,
but not yours,
Evan James Parker."
with nothing in it except packed boxes.
He came home when she wasn't finished packing.
When she wasn't finished saying goodbye.
And he stared at her with anger flowing through his veins, "You've had enough time. Get out. Now."
He flicked his white cuffed wrist to the elevator door, venom dripping from his mouth
like a savage dog.
And she stared at him with disdain, tears flowing freely as her mumbled words made her sound as worthless as she felt. "I'm not ready yet."
This time he began shouting, feeling his heart welting with the frustration that filled his heart
every day
for the past
few
weeks.
"I don't want to see you, Anna! Get the fuck out, now!" He stepped closer to her now, taking in the deep brown hair. Instead of it being neatly pinned back, it was now wavy and full of frizz. Her once full eyes were empty and heartless. He felt heartless too.
She gripped the edge of one of the boxes, sputtering, "Please, I can't go yet. How do you know--"
He gripped her arm, dragging her to the elevator door. And with the press of the button, the elevator slowly drifted up to the suite.
She cried out, falling against him. Feeling deflated.
And he held this woman.
The woman who he felt in love with for the past seven years.
The woman who showed him the world.
Who showed him love.
True.
Love.
He held this woman, feeling her embrace one last time, before she would drift off like the ocean. Being free. Truly free.
She looked up at him, her hollow green eyes meeting his with heartbreak.
And he brushed his fingers down her face so gently,
she could've mistaken it for rain.
And then he tugged his finger against her lip, ever so slightly.
"But," her voice was hoarse, "How do you know when it's love?"
His eyes widened, with reality.
What was love?
Was this terror of a relationship not real?
A facade?
Her pleading eyes bore into his.
But his anger still boiled.
Her rage was still inflamed.
As so when the elevator dinged, he moved Anna into the metal box. And left before she could watch him as the doors shut.
And he poured himself a glass of whiskey.
And took it as a shot.
And as he curled up in bed
his face was burning hot
from the tears that stained his cheeks
and the pain from the weeks
he was now being torn
from what she said
about the confusion
how love felt dead
and when he woke
he had some gin
mumbling what she spoke
the chance of sleep was slim
each day carried out
little shut eye
many tears
one day
he couldn't try
so he took some pills
and lay his head
after downing some whiskey
his limbs like lead
and he wrote
I quote
"My dearest Anna,
love
is a fanatical word
because people have assumed
that it can sum up a mess
of emotions
but
do not use it in vain
do not
utter it
with uncertainty
I love you
and when I say love
I mean
you make my heart stop
when you look at me
even if you don't
it feels as though I'll vomit
and my shakiness is terrible
and won't stop for hours
even when
you're long
gone.
And I love you
because
when your name is said
my stomach
it flutters
but the problem is
I love you
to the point
where
it
physically
hurts
when I'm not around you
and when you see me
but don't speak to me
I'm getting torn a part inside
and I pray you don't see my corpse
lifeless
loveless
but
I need you to see this
because I was
angry
I still am
but it wasn't with you
it was with my pain capacity
I was broken
I am broken
and I
can't
be
fixed
because
I'll just crumble again
and Oh, Anna
dream well
live well
live free
of strain
and sadness
and anger
and restlessness
watch the ocean
I see it in your eyes
watch the ocean.
With more emotion than you could possibly comprehend,
yours,
but not yours,
Evan James Parker."
Thursday, 2 October 2014
Dancing Girl
Her thin blond hair was twisted into a limp ponytail as she shimmied around the bar counter with obvious bags under her eyes. Her bony frame made her look sunken, but her head was raised high with a flirtatious smile pasted on her lips. The music was sultry, aiding in the dancers on stage. Men lined the sides, tossing generous amounts of money onto the stage and into the women's suits. The woman with the long ponytail leaned against the bar casually, with her sparkly blue lingerie twinkling with the dimmed pink lights as they spun. She was given several drinks by different men, but she only took the one with a cap still on it. It was cool against her throat, and she held it against her pale skin so her sweat could subside. Her smile then faltered slightly. Just for a moment.
She knew what was coming.
She gracefully placed the chilled beer back onto the counter, and just as she shimmied around the bar, she twisted into the bathroom. As she closed the door, she checked to make sure no one was in the bathroom so she could lock the door. She then walked over to the bathroom mirror, staring at her now yellow skin due to the cheap lighting. The lights flickered every so often due to the expense of the stage, and the lighting in the bathroom didn't make anyone look the least bit attractive.
As she studied herself in the mirror, she felt bile rise in her throat as to what she was wearing. The blue bikini like outfit had many long fringes on it, making it look almost cow girl like. She bared her teeth as she leaned into her made-up face. Thick foundation and bright blue eyeshadow made her look more like a doll than a human. And the bones that showed disgusted her. A few wrinkles creased by her eyes and mouth, showing signs that she was ageing. That also disgusted her. In a few years, men wouldn't want her. And if they didn't want her, then she couldn't feed her son.
Who was going to be disgusted by her.
And then, what she was waiting for came. The tears. The sudden feeling of sadness that crept up on her at the oddest of times. She stood by the sink crying silently for a long time. Until someone knocked on the door to wake her up. She dabbed her eyes as she stared confidently in the mirror, and adjusting her bra, she twirled out of the bathroom back onto the stage.
It didn't bother her, the attention she got. What bothered her was who was giving her attention. She could blatantly see pudgy men staring intently, and it gave her chills to know that when they go home they'd be jerking while thinking of her. That bothered her. It wasn't difficult to find a man willing to sleep with her for money after her shows. It was hard to leave their place with a sense of dignity. It was hard coming home in a wreck of an apartment to her son. Who was old enough to know what she was doing by now. To tell his friends she's a whore. A slut. A hooker. But he didn't know that she was doing it for him. So he could live. Even if it meant to sacrifice her own life.
And so she danced on the stage, accepting the coos and caws given from the men. And none of them would see her cry when it felt like everything inside of her was being torn apart. Because this was her life. And even if she wasn't living, her son was.
She knew what was coming.
She gracefully placed the chilled beer back onto the counter, and just as she shimmied around the bar, she twisted into the bathroom. As she closed the door, she checked to make sure no one was in the bathroom so she could lock the door. She then walked over to the bathroom mirror, staring at her now yellow skin due to the cheap lighting. The lights flickered every so often due to the expense of the stage, and the lighting in the bathroom didn't make anyone look the least bit attractive.
As she studied herself in the mirror, she felt bile rise in her throat as to what she was wearing. The blue bikini like outfit had many long fringes on it, making it look almost cow girl like. She bared her teeth as she leaned into her made-up face. Thick foundation and bright blue eyeshadow made her look more like a doll than a human. And the bones that showed disgusted her. A few wrinkles creased by her eyes and mouth, showing signs that she was ageing. That also disgusted her. In a few years, men wouldn't want her. And if they didn't want her, then she couldn't feed her son.
Who was going to be disgusted by her.
And then, what she was waiting for came. The tears. The sudden feeling of sadness that crept up on her at the oddest of times. She stood by the sink crying silently for a long time. Until someone knocked on the door to wake her up. She dabbed her eyes as she stared confidently in the mirror, and adjusting her bra, she twirled out of the bathroom back onto the stage.
It didn't bother her, the attention she got. What bothered her was who was giving her attention. She could blatantly see pudgy men staring intently, and it gave her chills to know that when they go home they'd be jerking while thinking of her. That bothered her. It wasn't difficult to find a man willing to sleep with her for money after her shows. It was hard to leave their place with a sense of dignity. It was hard coming home in a wreck of an apartment to her son. Who was old enough to know what she was doing by now. To tell his friends she's a whore. A slut. A hooker. But he didn't know that she was doing it for him. So he could live. Even if it meant to sacrifice her own life.
And so she danced on the stage, accepting the coos and caws given from the men. And none of them would see her cry when it felt like everything inside of her was being torn apart. Because this was her life. And even if she wasn't living, her son was.
Thursday, 25 September 2014
To a Pessimist
Her ashy
ringlets bobbed as she skipped her tiny legs across the sidewalk. Her little hands gripped the cottony rose
bag that held her school kits. As she
made her way by each brown house with the same muddy windows and deceased
grass, she hummed the new nursery rhyme she learned in school. She stepped on cue to each syllable,
giggling when she came across the tricky beat scheme. Her bright emerald eyes scanned the sky,
chasing the birds that glided through the air.
She gazed at the planes that carried hundreds of people, hoping each one
of them felt like a bird.
Her thoughts walked home with her, until
she reached the large wooden door with a brittle wreathe that hung melancholy. But her humming didn’t cease as she stepped
through the door. She slid off her
small black dress shoes, tucking them safely by the door. She turned, taking in the dust filled
cabinets and sheet of cat hair bunched throughout the laminate floor. Although she barely blinked as she hobbled
into the kitchen. Pots and filthy dishes
filled the sink and counter tops, mold brewed in a stale pot of tea, broken
glass was dotting the floor and the fridge was bare. All except for a rotten apple.
Her feet danced over the glass as she
pulled down an old box of cereal, popping a few dry pieces in her slim
lips. She spun into the living room,
holding her box of cereal affectionately as she sighed into the fraying, worn
couch. She sat there for a bit, listening
to the dead clock that hung on the wall.
The big hand stuck on three. She
imagined the clock ticking joyously, greeting her with every click. She crunched the cereal melodically, humming
as she kicked her feet. Her eyes
scraped the pattern on the curtains before her.
The damaged material wasn’t as pink as it used to be, instead a creamy
yellow filled the shades. She placed the
box on the floor of the couch and leapt to the stereo. She adjusted the antenna, flipping it to the
current eighties mix. She twirled and
jumped, sang and belted her heart out to Michael Jackson. But as she jumped against the ground, the
stereo silenced. Her cheeks flushed as
she attempted to fix it, but she simply pulled out her homework when it became
clear that the technology was fried.
Slight creaking sounded from the wooden
staircase, and she pulled herself to her feet as she padded to the base of the
stairs. A woman who looked older than
she was placed her frail hands against the railing. Her sunken green eyes met the little girl’s,
and a shaky smile formed on her mouth.
“Lynn dear, how was your day?” Her legs shook as she stepped down, but she
pulled the child into a weak hug. Lynn
smiled widely, pulling the woman’s hand to lead her excitingly into the living
room.
“Oh, mama I learned a new song today! And little Jimmy—the one down the road, he
tore my music sheet into confetti.” The
woman’s smile grew sad, but Lynn continued, “But don’t worry, mama. I used the confetti to throw into the
air. Everyone was having so much fun
with the tiny bits of paper that they tore theirs up too.” Her tiny lungs exhaled, waiting for the
woman’s response.
Her bony legs moved to the couch, as she
sat down the couch sunk with her. She
patted the cushion next to her, “Lynn that was terrible what that boy did. He ruined your song and didn’t apologize for
it.”
“But he did-“
“How could you know he meant it? No one means anything now a day. They’re all just a bunch of liars.” The woman pulled her fingers lovingly through
Lynn’s curls.
Lynn chuckled as she poked the woman’s
ribs. Her mother frowned
thoughtfully. They sat there with Lynn’s
head in her lap as the woman stared at the ragged curtains. Finally her mother spoke.
“Sweetie, I spoke to the doctor’s
today.”
Lynn jumped up with joy, twirling off the
couch. Her mother’s lips didn’t twitch
though.
“They told me I’m getting worse. We are going to have to find you a foster
home soon.” Lynn tilted her head.
“But did they tell you when you’d be at
your worst?” As her mother shook her
head Lynn gripped her hand affectionately, “It’s okay then mama, because we
still have time.” Her mother dropped
her head, the room filled with echoed sobs.
But Lynn still gripped her hand tightly, “Mama.” She spoke firmly, “I know you’re dying. I know we won’t be together for much longer,
but with the time we do have… we can
make everything special.” Her eyes
glowed as her mother raised her head to look at Lynn. Her face was solemn. The wrinkles creased around her eyes and
mouth as she parted her cracked lips. Lynn’s mother took in her daughter. She furrowed her eyebrows as Lynn watched her
curiously. Usually when her mother
spoke, she couldn’t stop listing off everything negative. She expected her mother to say something
about there not being a point to do anything if she was about to die
anyways. But instead, her mother lifted
herself slowly off the couch, her legs shaking with all the effort. She shuffled down the hallway, her feet never
fully leaving the cold ground. Finally,
she reached the door. With all her
strength she pulled the door open. She
lifted the wreath carefully, allowing no more pines to break off. As she turned back into the house, her eyes
caught Lynn’s. Lynn watched her mother
move more than she had in the past six months.
She watched her mother limp into the kitchen, open the garbage bin and
place the wreath in it thoughtfully.
And then she smiled at Lynn. Ever so slightly.
Tuesday, 23 September 2014
The Most Important Day For Any Woman
Her hands shook.
Not slightly.
She shook so much that you could tell from the church entrance that she was terrified.
Or humiliated.
Or angry.
She sat alone, with thousands of white ruffles cascading down the marble steps.
She sat alone, gripping the bouquet of scarlet roses as though her life depended on it.
She sat alone, not bothering to wipe the blood in her hands before it destroyed her gown.
The blood from the thorns of the flowers.
The beautiful pain that enveloped her.
That cloaked her. Her face was bare, perfectly clean of makeup to show her naturally porcelain composure.
Placid.
Her soft pink lips were parted
ever so slightly.
But no sound came out.
Emptiness rang out from the crying stained glass.
Thunder shook the building, making the crosses on the wall clatter to the floor.
But she sat on the steps
waiting
ever
so
quietly.
The clock rang then, singing with the thunder.
Her body merely shook
waiting.
She could hear the marble floor's breath as the building towered over both of them.
Protecting both of them.
She brought her head up then,
staring at the large wooden doors that lay what felt a hundred feet away.
But she knew it would take mere moments to place her cold, bloodied hand on the sterling silver door handle and push out into the storm.
Never looking back.
But she waited.
She couldn't leave.
Her heart hurt.
Her heart hurt.
Her heart hurt.
A cry escaped her lips as the bouquet slipped out of her hand.
A sound that spoke so truly
as though she were giving up
and the petals crunched against the ivory
and the blood dripped into a pool
and the leaves were limp
as were her hands.
Why were they limp?
She couldn't do this.
She couldn't give up.
She brought her hands to cradle her face.
To cradle her now free flowing tears.
To make her tears become red.
With anger.
She staggered to her feet. Her bare feet.
The room spun
and she felt disorientated.
Why was she giving up?
Her feet stepped onto the roses
and she stood there
staring at the oak doors
whom seemed to be staring at her
mocking her
mocking her
mocking her.
Her eyes became sunken as she stepped slowly off the delicate petals beneath her feet.
As she stepped away from the beautiful red that was embedded in them.
As she stepped away from the altar.
As she stepped away from the storm inside of her.
The ruffles danced behind her as she took conscious steps to her exit.
Her hair kissed her shoulders as she rose her head
higher.
And as she reached to the gleaming silver
the storm suddenly filled the room.
The thundering shrieks
and water spun darts
attacked the marble floor
attacked the stone benches
and she saw his pleading eyes.
He saw her fear.
They stood there gaping at one another.
And he pulled her close, kissing the blood off her hands.
His gray eyes were damp
from the tears
he
was
now
shedding.
And her eyes were as dry
as the way
her
heart
felt
like
sandpaper.
And as though he was a stone
she couldn't break him down
to open
to speak
because he wasn't there
he wasn't there
no
he was
here
now.
With her in his arms
he was here
but her heart tugged
so solely to one feeling
in which would be to leave
to not hurt
but she couldn't pull away
from his tight embrace
his cologne filled suit
his pale damp hair
his sullen gray eyes
his eyes
made her sad
and she couldn't
pinpoint
why.
Until the echoing chill of the clock struck her mind.
The time.
The time.
Was gone.
She stiffened.
He let her go, asking if she was okay.
His soothing voice
silky
soft
against her thoughts.
But the time.
He asked again
with the head shaking response from her
and the simple phrase
"It's too late."
His eyes clouded.
Distraught filled the room
his distraught filled the room.
It filled
her heart
as she left
padding so quickly
that she could have tripped
over her
thousands of ruffles
but they were being dragged by the rain
the rain that had started to stop
and the thunder that turned to sparks
of light.
But she couldn't look back
because his sorrow
was hers
and it hurt
it hurt
so much
as though someone
was wrenching her heart
and there was a person doing that
it was her
she was hurting herself
why
she loved him
she loved him
and she left
why would she leave?
Because she loved herself too.
And she couldn't let her heart hurt anymore.
She couldn't let her head cry.
She couldn't let her feet feel heavy.
She wanted to fly.
She wanted to laugh.
She wanted to live.
And she couldn't
when her
entire self
hurt.
Not slightly.
She shook so much that you could tell from the church entrance that she was terrified.
Or humiliated.
Or angry.
She sat alone, with thousands of white ruffles cascading down the marble steps.
She sat alone, gripping the bouquet of scarlet roses as though her life depended on it.
She sat alone, not bothering to wipe the blood in her hands before it destroyed her gown.
The blood from the thorns of the flowers.
The beautiful pain that enveloped her.
That cloaked her. Her face was bare, perfectly clean of makeup to show her naturally porcelain composure.
Placid.
Her soft pink lips were parted
ever so slightly.
But no sound came out.
Emptiness rang out from the crying stained glass.
Thunder shook the building, making the crosses on the wall clatter to the floor.
But she sat on the steps
waiting
ever
so
quietly.
The clock rang then, singing with the thunder.
Her body merely shook
waiting.
She could hear the marble floor's breath as the building towered over both of them.
Protecting both of them.
She brought her head up then,
staring at the large wooden doors that lay what felt a hundred feet away.
But she knew it would take mere moments to place her cold, bloodied hand on the sterling silver door handle and push out into the storm.
Never looking back.
But she waited.
She couldn't leave.
Her heart hurt.
Her heart hurt.
Her heart hurt.
A cry escaped her lips as the bouquet slipped out of her hand.
A sound that spoke so truly
as though she were giving up
and the petals crunched against the ivory
and the blood dripped into a pool
and the leaves were limp
as were her hands.
Why were they limp?
She couldn't do this.
She couldn't give up.
She brought her hands to cradle her face.
To cradle her now free flowing tears.
To make her tears become red.
With anger.
She staggered to her feet. Her bare feet.
The room spun
and she felt disorientated.
Why was she giving up?
Her feet stepped onto the roses
and she stood there
staring at the oak doors
whom seemed to be staring at her
mocking her
mocking her
mocking her.
Her eyes became sunken as she stepped slowly off the delicate petals beneath her feet.
As she stepped away from the beautiful red that was embedded in them.
As she stepped away from the altar.
As she stepped away from the storm inside of her.
The ruffles danced behind her as she took conscious steps to her exit.
Her hair kissed her shoulders as she rose her head
higher.
And as she reached to the gleaming silver
the storm suddenly filled the room.
The thundering shrieks
and water spun darts
attacked the marble floor
attacked the stone benches
and she saw his pleading eyes.
He saw her fear.
They stood there gaping at one another.
And he pulled her close, kissing the blood off her hands.
His gray eyes were damp
from the tears
he
was
now
shedding.
And her eyes were as dry
as the way
her
heart
felt
like
sandpaper.
And as though he was a stone
she couldn't break him down
to open
to speak
because he wasn't there
he wasn't there
no
he was
here
now.
With her in his arms
he was here
but her heart tugged
so solely to one feeling
in which would be to leave
to not hurt
but she couldn't pull away
from his tight embrace
his cologne filled suit
his pale damp hair
his sullen gray eyes
his eyes
made her sad
and she couldn't
pinpoint
why.
Until the echoing chill of the clock struck her mind.
The time.
The time.
Was gone.
She stiffened.
He let her go, asking if she was okay.
His soothing voice
silky
soft
against her thoughts.
But the time.
He asked again
with the head shaking response from her
and the simple phrase
"It's too late."
His eyes clouded.
Distraught filled the room
his distraught filled the room.
It filled
her heart
as she left
padding so quickly
that she could have tripped
over her
thousands of ruffles
but they were being dragged by the rain
the rain that had started to stop
and the thunder that turned to sparks
of light.
But she couldn't look back
because his sorrow
was hers
and it hurt
it hurt
so much
as though someone
was wrenching her heart
and there was a person doing that
it was her
she was hurting herself
why
she loved him
she loved him
and she left
why would she leave?
Because she loved herself too.
And she couldn't let her heart hurt anymore.
She couldn't let her head cry.
She couldn't let her feet feel heavy.
She wanted to fly.
She wanted to laugh.
She wanted to live.
And she couldn't
when her
entire self
hurt.
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